


Freelance Good Guys: Fungicide

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [24]
Category: Freelance Good Guys, Looming Gaia
Genre: Body Horror, Cecaelias, Drug Abuse, Elves, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Magic, Medical Procedures, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: Mr. Ocean's illness endangers everyone around him. With no cure in sight, will he be forced into isolation forever?
Series: Looming Gaia [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/833844
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Hazard in the Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place right after "Troubled Tides". I recommend you read that first or this one won't make a lot of sense.
> 
> For concept art, discussions, dumb memes and more, check out the Looming Gaia Blog: https://loominggaia.tumblr.com/post/175087795478/looming-gaia-masterpost

**[CHAPTER 1: HAZARD IN THE HOLLOW]**

_LATE AUTUMN, 6006_

After rescuing twenty-one children from the clutches of the Aquarian Alliance, the Freelance Good Guys finally returned to their village of Drifter’s Hollow.

They stepped out of their carriages and slipped coins to the drivers, who soon disappeared down the eastern road. Evan stretched his sore back, then approached Mr. Ocean and said, “Well, here we are! Welcome to the Hollow. It may not look terribly impressive…” He gestured down the road at the dirt plaza, where villagers loudly haggled with Gwyneth the market vendor. “But it’s a good little community. Everyone looks out for eachother here.”

The other mercenaries gathered around their captain as he continued, “I know you’re all surely exhausted and aching for drinks. But would anyone care to show our new recruit around the compound?”

A round of grumbles passed around the crew. Then Alaine’s hand shot up and she volunteered, “I will!”

Evan smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Fontaine. Everyone else, let’s hit the tavern.”

The crew dispersed and Mr. Ocean followed Alaine down the main road of the village. She pointed out places of interest along the way.

“That’s the market,” she said. “It’s run by a lady named Gwyneth Fallbrooke. She’s a nasty bitch by nature, so don’t take her attitude personally.”

Then she pointed to the clinic. It was a large, simple building of logs sitting upon a cobblestone foundation. “That’s Dr. Che’s clinic. We, uh, spend a lot of time there in our line of work. I barely understand half of what that guy says, but he’s great at what he does!”

Then she pointed to the tavern and said, “That’s the Drifter’s Inn and Tavern. They have strong drinks to get you sloshed and cheap rooms to sleep it off in. Me and some of the Guys play music there when we’re strapped for gold.”

“Music,” muttered Mr. Ocean. “What kind of music?”

Alaine shrugged. “Oh, just whatever the night calls for. Jay’s on the piano, Glen’s on percussion when he’s sober enough, and I play lute and sing.”

“I used to play music.”

Alaine quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think enthralling people with magical incantations counts as music…”

“No, before that,” replied Mr. Ocean, shaking his head. “Long ago, I met a band of Matuzan pirates in my travels. One of them fell in love with a dorikori and decided to join the Resistance. We were good friends for many years. He gave me his beloved sitar and taught me how to play it.” He paused in thought. “It was…perhaps seven or eight years ago now when we had to abandon our floeback vessel. My sitar was abandoned with it, and I haven’t played since.”

“But you enjoyed playing it, right?”

“Yes, very much.” The cecaelia’s gaze drifted wistfully towards the sky. “I’d become lost in my practice. I felt only the vibrations in my fingers and the music in my ears. But those moments were fleeting. Someone would always drag me back to my bleak reality to tell me food rations were low, or the Alliance had captured someone, or our vessel was dying.”

He paused again, then turned to Alaine and said. “I don’t think I’m a very good leader, Alaine Fontaine of Laraine.”

A smile tugged at Alaine’s blue lips. “I don’t think you are either,” she admitted. “But hey, that makes two of us. Maybe you could play with us at the tavern? Evan’s got a rich Matuzan boyfriend who sends us gifts all the time. I bet he’d send a sitar if Evan batted his lashes about it.”

Mr. Ocean cocked his head, stopping abruptly in his tracks. “You would do that? For…for me?” he queried.

“Sure, why not?” Alaine shrugged. “Come on, the compound is just a little further. We have a boarding house where you can stay until you get a place of your own. Evan just scrapes a little off your pay for rent. But if you can’t pay, don’t worry about it. We won’t break your kneecaps over it or anything.”

The two passed through the gate of the mercenary compound. It was a village within the village, with tall log walls surrounding its heart. In the heart was the dirt plaza where a covered well stood, and around its edges were the boarding house, dining hall, and Evan’s office.

Alaine pointed out each amenity and added, “There’s also a training grounds down that path over there.” She gestured down another path. “Jeimos’ tower is down that way. Be careful though, there’s a lot of rusty metal laying around over there.” Then towards a larger road. “And that road leads to the lake where me and Glen live.”

Mr. Ocean seemed to perk up slightly. “A lake?” he queried. Only then did Alaine notice the cracks in his lips, the dullness his eyes, and the dryness of his aqua skin.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, you’re probably super dehydrated!” she blurted, then grabbed his wrist and began pulling him along down the road. “Let’s get you in the lake so you can—”

She paused, furrowing her brow at the faint green residue his wrist had left on her palp. She was left standing there in awkward contemplation. Mr. Ocean was still very much infected with greenlite fungus. He was still producing toxic ooze from his pores, which could enthrall her to him if she submerged herself in any water it tainted.

And that was only the effect it had on mermaids, she thought. How the toxin might affect other peoples, she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Alaine turned and began walking back towards the plaza, “Um, on second thought,” she began slowly, “let’s stay out of the lake for now. There’s a big, porcelain washtub in the boarding house. It’s nice, you’ll like it!”

The cecaelia apologized somberly, “I don’t wish to burden you with my wretched illness. I am very sorry. Perhaps I’m not fit to be—”

“No, no, don’t even start with that,” sighed Alaine, pushing open the rickety wooden door to the boarding house. She led him down a hallway with doors on either side, passing through the one at the very end.

They entered a spacious washroom. It had floors of stone and a porcelain washtub near the back wall. “Listen,” began Alaine, “most of us Guys have illnesses of our own, and some of those illnesses can be really, _really_ dangerous when we don’t take care of them. So, you know what we do?”

She turned the valve on a metal spigot jutting out from the wall. Water poured out and began filling the tub. “We take care of ourselves, and we take care of eachother. Remember the first rule of the Good Guy code?”

“Help those in need,” recalled Mr. Ocean. A wooden shelf stood behind him, holding all manner of towels and toiletries. Alaine swiped a rag from the shelf and tossed it in the tub.

“Right. So hop in and we’ll take care of this fungus thing,” she said.

The cecaelia stepped into the tub. The water was cold, but not unbearably so for an Aquarian. He examined the spigot and asked, “Where is this water coming from?”

“It’s just rain water,” explained Alaine. “Jeimos built a reservoir thingy right outside the wall here. Sometimes it freezes though, and I know in summer the boarders have to gather buckets from the lake to fill it. Um, there’s a screen over the top to keep animals from dying in it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Mr. Ocean shook his head. “That doesn’t concern me. During our campaigns on Zareen’s western shores, I endured waters filthier than you could ever imagine,” he mumbled. “I swear there are times I can still taste it...”

“Yeah, I know that taste,” Alaine chuckled. “I grew up in Kingsfall Swamp, just south of Zareen Empire. It’s like petrol and rotting fish, right?”

“Yes, that’s exactly the taste!”

Once the water rose to the cecaelia’s chest, Alaine turned the spigot again and stopped the flow. She headed for the door, said, “Have a nice soak. I’ll come back in a while and show you the rest of the compound,” and then she disappeared.

The moment she closed the door behind her, her confident façade melted away. She dropped her face in her hands and let out a long, muffled groan, for she suddenly realized that his bathwater would have to be disposed of on a daily basis.

Pouring it in the lake was obviously out of the question. She had no idea how it would affect the soil or their crops. She briefly considered tossing it in the village cesspit. But once a month, trolls came to collect the waste and used it to build their underground dung-houses. Repulsive as they were, Alaine had no desire to poison those unwitting trolls.

Accommodating for Mr. Ocean was going to be more work than she thought. Alaine was not clever enough to think of a solution, but she knew someone who probably was.

*

Mr. Ocean spent almost an hour rehydrating in the tub. The cracks in his lips disappeared and the sheen returned to his skin. But the water in the tub had turned a faint, sickly, green color, its surface shimmering like an oil slick.

He looked upon the water with dismay. He knew that if he stayed in the tub long enough, the bath would just become more and more contaminated until it poisoned him. The toxin would overwhelm his system inside and out, and while the effect wasn’t fatal, Mr. Ocean didn’t wish to indulge in it anymore.

Intoxication was not filling the hole that Solveig’s death left in his heart. It was not filling his life with purpose. It was only making him complacent to waste more and more time—the only thing he truly owned in this world.

He jumped at a sudden rap on the door. Alaine’s voice called from behind it, “Knock-knock! It’s Alaine! Can I come in?”

Mr. Ocean’s limbs and tentacles were splayed out over the sides of the tub. He probably looked like a bowl of noodles, he thought, and righted himself into a more modest position before answering, “Yes, of course.”

Alaine passed through the door with someone else in her company. They were an elf of undeterminable age or gender clad in a long, black coat. Their red hair was twisted into dozens of braids.

Alaine touched the elf’s shoulder and introduced them, “Mr. Ocean, this is Jeimos Paramonimos. They’re the smartest person I know, and they’re going to help us figure out what to do with the greenlite.”

Mr. Ocean stood up. The water rolled off his hairless Aquarian skin, leaving little mess as he stepped out of the tub. Jeimos asked him, “Tell me, how _have_ you been disposing of this water?”

“Irresponsibly,” the cecaelia admitted. His response was vague and sheepish. Alaine and Jeimos decided not to press the issue, saw no reason to shame him further.

“I see,” mumbled Jeimos, thoughtfully tapping their gloved fingertip against their lip. “Does it have any explosive or caustic properties?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Mr. Ocean.

Jeimos nodded and kneeled before the tub. They plucked a little glass vial from their pocket and filled it with the tainted water. They tucked it away again and said, “Then I’d like to run a simple experiment, if you don’t mind.”

With that, the elf willed magical flames to their palms and pressed them to the side of the tub. They closed their eyes tightly, gnashing their teeth as they exerted all their strength. The flames grew hotter and more intense, and within a few minutes, the water in the tub began to boil. White steam rose from its surface. Before long, the green tint disappeared, leaving the water as clear as it had been before the cecaelia set foot in it.

“Oh, wow! Jay, I think you did it! It looks totally clean!” gasped Alaine.

Jeimos raised a hand and warned, “Don’t touch it yet!” They took another glass vial from their pocket and filled it with the clear water. “I want to study these samples under my microscope just to be sure. Looks can be deceiving, you know.”

Alaine asked, “How long will that take?”

“No more than a day, I should think,” they replied, tucking the vial in their opposite pocket. “In the meantime, perhaps our friend here should visit the clinic?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” said Alaine. She turned to Mr. Ocean and asked, “I mean, have you ever seen a doctor about this fungal thing?”

Mr. Ocean sighed, “I have travelled the world in search of a cure. I’ve seen doctors, shamans, clerics, surgeons…I’ve even sought the help of the ocean divines, Salina and Marina themselves. They said my brother and I caused too much strife in Aquaria and refused to help me. At this point, I’ve simply accepted that I am well beyond help.”

Alaine crossed her arms, staring hard at the floor. “That can’t be true,” she muttered. “Didn’t you say magic can do anything? You used magic to make the greenlite, so can’t you use magic to make an antidote or something?”

Mr. Ocean replied, “Making a cure is possible. Finding a grain of black pepper on the beach is also possible, but it will take more time and skill than I will ever have.” He paused. His next words were strained with reluctance. “The only one I know with that kind of curative skill is…well, my brother. But please understand, I cannot go to him for help.”

Alaine waved her open hands. “God, no! I’d never ask you to!” she said, then turned to Jeimos. “Thanks for the help, Jay. Please let us know what you find as soon as possible.”

Jeimos grinned, “Oh, certainly. I’m really quite excited to explore this stuff! Who knows? Perhaps _I_ will be the mastermind who finds the cure!”

“Let’s not hold our breath, okay?” Alaine beckoned the cecaelia towards the door. “I know you haven’t had luck with normal doctors, but…Well, I wouldn’t call Dr. Che ‘normal’.”

*

Alaine and Mr. Ocean stepped into the clinic. They entered the lobby, a simple room lined with mismatched chairs, and sitting in those chairs were patients waiting to be seen. Alaine quickly counted them in her head. Then her face brightened when she said, “Hey, only twelve people ahead of you! That’s not bad for this place!”

Mr. Ocean reluctantly made his way to an empty seat. It creaked and wobbled slightly under his weight, an old, broken dining chair that had clearly been dragged out of someone’s trash. Alaine told him, “You’ll probably be waiting a few hours. I should actually get to the blacksmith now. My gear got pretty messed up on our last job.”

She reached out to pat his shoulder. Then she remembered his toxins and stopped herself at the last moment, offering a smile and an awkward wave. “Come find me at the lake when you’re done here. I live in the little house on stilts—you can’t miss it.”

Mr. Ocean bid her farewell as she walked out the door, leaving him to sit among a room full of groaning, bleeding villagers and travelers alike. The faces he saw were human, elven, faun, and goblin. There were no Aquarians like himself. In fact, he hadn’t seen another Aquarian besides Alaine since he arrived. He didn’t recall a time before now where he’d ever been a minority.

The man sitting beside him was an elf, golden brown of complexion and chestnut of hair. He supposed he could relate to the man on some level—they were both fae, after all—so he cleared his throat and introduced himself, “Hello. I am Ocean of Tekee.”

The elven man shot him a brief, strange look, as if a houseplant had just spoken to him. His torso was bare, for his cotton shirt was wrapped around his bicep and soaked with blood. “Good for you,” he grunted. His expression was strained, long hair disheveled.

Mr. Ocean squinted at the makeshift tourniquet. “I can see you’re in much pain,” he said. “What happened to you?”

“None of your business. Piss off,” the man grumbled.

Mr. Ocean tipped his head in embarrassment and apologized, “I’m sorry, my friend, I didn’t mean to be rude. I have experience in curative magic and I just thought, perhaps, I could help you. I will disturb you no more.”

The elf turned to him, chestnut brows raised. “Wait,” he said, “you’re a curative mage? Oh, uh, maybe you _should_ look at this then…” He clenched his teeth in pain as he carefully unwrapped the shirt from his arm.

Underneath was a long, gaping wound, as if the flesh of his arm had been gouged out by a spoon. “It hurts real bad. Look how deep it is, it’s down to the bone! Do, uh, do you think they’ll have to take my arm off?”

Gently taking the elf’s hand, Mr. Ocean closely examined the wound. “Hmm…we shall see. Hold steady,” he replied, then he pressed his glowing fingers over the edge of the gouge. The man clenched his fist and his teeth in pain. As Mr. Ocean’s fingertip traced along the wound, the flesh mended in its wake.

The man rapidly stomped his foot and cried out as the other patients watched in equal parts horror and awe. Three of them became frightened and rushed out the door. But in less than a minute, the wound was sealed, leaving only a faint scar behind.

“It is done,” said Mr. Ocean. The elf jerked his hand from the cecaelia’s grip, panting heavily. He wiped the sweat off his brow with one arm as he examined the other, gasping when he realized it was injured no more.

His jaw fell slack. He twisted his arm this way and that, flexing his fingers, trying to find fault. “It’s not bleeding anymore. Not at all! It’s a little sore, but…” A smile spread over the man’s face. He suddenly shot to his feet, swiped Mr. Ocean’s hand and shook it up and down. “Sir, you weren’t kiddin’! You’re a damn fine wizard! What did you say your name was again?”

“I am Ocean of Tekee,” Mr. Ocean repeated, flashing his mouthful of shark’s teeth as he smiled back. “I am glad I was able to help you. Please, keep the area clean and watch for signs of infection.”

“You bet I will! Here,” said the man, fishing through his pants-pocket. He dropped a handful of gold coins in the cecaelia’s palm. “This is what I would’ve paid the clinician. He better watch out—he’s got competition! Thanks again!”

Mr. Ocean watched the man practically skip out the door. He left the bloodied shirt behind in his haste. Eight other patients remained in the lobby, exchanging various expressions. Finally, a human woman stood up and approached Mr. Ocean from across the room. She was pressing a blood-soaked rag against her hand.

She offered a smile as she spoke to him, “That was amazing, what you did for that elfann. Um, I was wondering…?”

*

A patient with a bandaged leg passed through the door to the examination room, hobbled across the lobby, and left the clinic. Shortly after, a green-skinned little kobold waddled into the lobby, dressed in a bloodstained white coat. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun atop her head.

“Next! Next patie—” she called, then stopped in her tracks. Her uneven eyes rounded at the sight of Mr. Ocean, sitting alone in the otherwise empty lobby. The kobold darted back through the doorway. She slammed the door closed, then opened it just a crack to peek out and wail, “What kinds of creature are ye? Where’s other patients? Did ye eats them?”

The cecaelia shrank back and raised his palms, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. Clearly the kobold had never seen a cecaelia before. He wasn’t surprised. His people were a rare sight this far inland.

“My name is Ocean of Tekee. I am with the Freelance Good Guys,” he explained. “I did not eat your patients—I would never do such a thing. I simply saw to their wounds with my curative magic.” He waggled his fingers before him. “But I’m afraid I’m very sick, and I need help from a greater healer than I. Please, can you help me?”

The kobold blinked, staring him down through the crack in the door. After a moment, she cautiously opened it wider and said, “Comes in. We finds out.”

Mr. Ocean stepped into the examination room. It was a small space with a metal table in the center. The walls were lined with cabinets, each one stuffed with all manner of supplies. A barrel of bloody rags sat in the corner beside two chairs.

An aging satyr stood at the back of the room. He looked up at Mr. Ocean as he wiped a scalpel with a wet rag. His furry legs and hooves stuck out through the bottom his long, white coat and he wore round glasses on his face, his graying hair pulled into a short ponytail. The beard upon his chin was restrained by a metal clasp.

He offered a friendly smile and a greeting in broken, heavily-accented _Universa_ , “Oh, hello! It is, eh, fish-man! I not see this people in long time!” He tossed the rag in the barrel and set the scalpel aside, gesturing to himself and then the kobold. “I am Dr. Che. This is Nurse Tojum. Please sit, tell information and problem, and we try to fix, okay?” He patted the metal table.

Mr. Ocean’s yellow eyes shifted between the two. They were an odd couple indeed. He took a seat on the table and explained, “My name is Ocean of Tekee. I am a male cecaelia and I’ve, er, lost count of my exact age. But it is surely between a thousand and twelve hundred years.”

Dr. Che stroked his beard, nodding thoughtfully. Mr. Ocean went on, “Anyway, I…I’m here because I’m sick with a fungal infection. I’ve had it for a very long time, but no one has been able to cure me. I was told you may be able to help.”

“I try my best,” Dr. Che assured him. He then adjusted his glasses and circled the table, looking the cecaelia up and down. “You very skinny, look quite sick,” he mentioned. “But I see no fungus. Where is problem?”

“It’s growing inside me,” said Mr. Ocean, gesturing vaguely at himself. “It slowly poisons me, and my body tries to fight it by constantly purging it through my skin. The substance is non-lethal as far as I can tell, but it has intoxicating effects in high concentrations—”

“No, no, no!” growled Nurse Tojum. “Ye uses too much fancy words! Speak small words so we understands!”

Mr. Ocean fell silent in thought. Then he took in a breath and started over, “I’m sorry. Er, there is fungus growing in my body,” he said slowly, waving towards himself, “The fungus makes my skin poisonous. The poison does not kill people. But it, uh, makes people drunk. When I swim, my skin makes the water poisonous too.”

Dr. Che’s expression brightened as if he finally understood. “Ah, yes, I see! You are poison, like frogs in Jungle of Scales,” he said, then he quickly opened a drawer and slipped on leather gloves. Tojum did the same, though they fit awkwardly on her misshapen hands. Dr. Che picked up a white rag and wet it in a basin of water. He used it to wipe down Mr. Ocean’s forehead, shoulders, and chest.

When he pulled it away and examined it, he raised his dark brows at the green residue left behind. Nurse Tojum screwed up her face and grunted, “Yuck! Looks at it! He stains like grass!”

The satyr hushed her and plucked a cotton swab out of a jar. He raised it to Mr. Ocean’s mouth and said, “Open, please.”

Mr. Ocean obeyed, staring towards the ceiling as the doctor swabbed his mouth. When he pulled it away, the tip was stained an even more vivid green than the rag. A troubled, perhaps slightly frightened expression crossed Dr. Che’s face. He clicked his tongue in dismay, muttering something in his native language as he sealed both the rag and the swab in a jar, closing it tightly.

Mr. Ocean frowned. “It’s beyond help, isn’t it?” he asked. Dr. Che didn’t answer right away. He set the jar on the table and leaned on its edge, staring at the floor for a long moment.

Finally he said, “I am doctor long time. I fix many, many infections, easy! No problems! But this infection…” He tipped his head towards the cecaelia. “I not see this before. Is bad. Is very bad.”

Mr. Ocean’s posture sank with his sigh. He expected as much. Then the doctor placed a gloved hand on his arm and added, “Do not lose hope! I am just little village doctor. I not know everything!” He picked up the basin of water and held it before Mr. Ocean. “Here, touch water.”

The cecaelia saw no reason to argue, so he placed his hands in the bowl of water. Dr. Che went on, “I know very smart witch in Tonsborg named Morbus. She have medicine for everything! I cannot help you, but maybe she can.” He pulled the bowl away and dumped the tainted water in the jar with the equally tainted rag and swab.

He sealed the jar up tightly as he continued, “I send this sample to Morbus for study. She will write back in, eh…some days. But you are still poison like frogs, so until I get letter, I will put you in quarantine room.”

Cocking his hairless brows, Mr. Ocean queried, “You want to quarantine me?”

Dr. Che offered an anxious smile. “I think is for the best. This infection very serious, Mr. Ocean. Very contagious! You can see, is in the water!” He tapped the top of the jar. “You stay in quarantine while Morbus think of medicine. Is quiet, is comfortable! Nurse Tojum will take good care of you.”

The nurse’s head whipped towards Dr. Che, her jaw agape. “Tojum? Tojum don’t wants to touch fungus-man! Ye does it! Ye doctor! Tojum only dumb nurse! Not qualified!” she protested frantically.

“No complaining,” the doctor told her with a patient smile. “This will be good for learning, so you can become doctor one day too! Good doctors not complain and not turn patients away.”

The kobold let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Comes with Tojum then,” she said to Mr. Ocean. “Ye goes to quarantine.”

*


	2. Dinner and a Show

**[CHAPTER 2: DINNER AND A SHOW]**

A day passed in Drifter’s Hollow. Evan Atlas rose with the sun. He made a detour on the way to his office, heading down the road to the lake. The morning was cold and quiet, the edges of the water gleaming with a thin layer of ice.

In the lake’s center was a wooden dinghy, where Glenvar and Alaine relaxed with their fishing poles. Evan hated to disturb the peace as he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Good morning, friends! I’m looking for Mr. Ocean! Is he in the lake?”

Alaine turned this way and that. Then she called back, “He better not be! Last I heard, Dr. Che had him in quarantine!”

“Quarantine?” Evan muttered, raising an eyebrow.

He thanked the two and set off towards the clinic. The simple building had undergone some upgrades in the last month, thanks to volunteer work by the villagers. As the Evangeline-Folkvar war raged, refugees naturally found themselves in the Forest of Refuge, and Drifter’s Hollow was rapidly outgrowing its already meager medical facilities. Making the long trip to Woodborne’s hospital was often faster than waiting for Dr. Che.

Evan passed through the doors of the clinic. He counted twenty-seven patients in the lobby, and without enough chairs, many of them were forced onto the floor. He wasn’t surprised by the sight before him. He knocked on the door to the examination room.

After a few seconds, Nurse Tojum opened it and barked, “Doctor is busy! Waits yer turn!”

“I don’t need treatment,” Evan told her quickly, “I’m just here to visit Mr. Ocean.”

The nurse blinked. “Oh. Aye, he’s very sick. We hads to quarantine him! Are ye sures ye wants to see?”

“Please,” said Evan. Nurse Tojum reluctantly led him across the lobby to another door.

Behind that door was a staircase leading down to a basement. The room at the bottom was enclosed by stone bricks, all except for one wall which was made of thick blocks of glass. Through the glass Evan saw Mr. Ocean, sitting on a cot with a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other.

Nurse Tojum pulled a ring of keys off her belt and unlocked the metal door. She gestured inside but did not step in herself, telling Evan, “Tojum very busy. Ye visits fungus-man all ye wants, but do _not_ touches him and close door when ye leaves! It locks itself.” With that, she hobbled back up the stairs.

Evan stood in the doorway so not to lock himself in, leaning on the frame as he asked, “How are you fairing, friend? What’s all this about?”

“Dr. Che says my condition could be a danger to the community,” Mr. Ocean replied with a mouthful of apple. “I don’t think he’s wrong.”

Evan looked around at the room. “Something tells me if you wanted out of here, this glass wouldn’t stop you,” he mused.

Mr. Ocean sighed, “I don’t want out. This is for the best, Captain. I’ve hurt enough innocent people in the past and I don’t wish to hurt anyone anymore. I only regret that I won’t be of much use to you while I’m in here.”

Evan made a quiet noise of acknowledgement. He stood there in silence for a moment, rubbing at his chin.

Then he tipped his head towards the book and asked, “What are you reading there?”

Mr. Ocean showed him the cover, holding his place with his finger. “This book is about Haggomah, the divine of ugliness. I have never met her myself, but I’ve always found her plight fascinating.”

“Ah, yes. Haggomah,” said Evan, “I know her story well. She’s been very sick her whole life, but her divinity won’t allow her to die. She’s quite a tragic one.”

Mr. Ocean nodded. “Yes. But I find myself frustrated with this book. It does not tell the truth.”

“Oh? How so?”

“This author claims that Haggomah was born in Waterwalk,” explained Mr. Ocean. “But I’ve spoken to many melusine in my time, and they all tell me she was born in Gryphon Bay. The wretched Kingsfall River flows into that bay, which makes it one of the most polluted bodies of water on Looming Gaia. Haggomah’s illnesses and deformities are not unique to her. Countless sirenes living in that region are in the same terrible condition.”

“You think the pollution is making them sick?” queried Evan.

“I don’t think so,” replied Mr. Ocean, “I _know_ so. And as I dwell more upon it, I begin to understand the source of my brother’s passions. Not only that, but I realized that I have not been helping the Terrians by sparing them from the consequences of their actions. If Zareen Empire does not have motivation to change its ways, I fear all of Terria will pay for it.”

“We’re already paying for it,” grumbled Evan. “The Sovereign had _no_ business attacking a Folkvaran city.”

Mr. Ocean dipped his head. “No, he did not. And he will surely do it again. If I know my brother as well as I think I do, then I believe he is trying to scare other nations into warring with Zareen Empire. He may plan to strike in the midst of the chaos, and I assure you, it will be devastating.”

Evan’s expression strained with anxiety. “Well,” he sighed, “this crew wants no part in that mess, but we’ll gladly help clean it up when the dust settles. We take care of eachother first and foremost.” He briefly pointed towards the book. “I think you could use a better library in here. I have quite a collection myself. What kind of books do you like best?”

Mr. Ocean thought for a moment. “Non-fiction,” he answered. “Anything that can expand my knowledge of the world. Not this…” He tossed the book on the floor. “…pro-Zareenite propaganda. Or propaganda of any kind. I want only the truth, however ugly it may be.”

Evan smiled. “You’re a man after my own heart, Mr. Ocean. I’ll be back in a while with some stuff I think you’ll really like.”

Just as he turned to leave, Mr. Ocean said, “Wait. If I touch your books, they’ll be covered in greenlite toxins. I would hate to soil things that are important to you.”

“Don’t fret about that. I’ll just wipe them off and burn the rag,” Evan replied with a flippant shrug. “Believe it or not, I used to be a sickly one too. I know what it’s like to be treated like a biohazard. Not fun at all, is it?”

The cecaelia frowned. “No. I have not been this lonely in…in centuries.”

Evan passed through the metal door. Just before he closed it, he said, “You won’t be alone for long, friend. I promise.”

*

That evening, the mercenaries gathered at the dining hall for a feast to celebrate their great victory at Woodborne. They brought whatever food they could scrounge up for the occasion. Alaine and Glenvar walked in with a hefty baked trout they caught in the lake that morning. The crew invited their friends from the village to join them, filling every seat at the long table except for one.

Jeimos lit the fireplace in the back of the room with their magic. They were the last one seated, then Evan stood up and made an announcement, “Hear this, everyone! We have a lot to talk about!”

Once the crew quieted, he continued, “Some of you are already aware, but our newest recruit is unwell. He’s so unwell that Dr. Che has locked him in quarantine until a solution is found.”

He turned to Jeimos and asked, “Jeimos, have you discovered anything from your experiments yet?”

The elf dabbed their mouth with a cloth napkin. “Yes,” they said, “it was just as I suspected. The greenlite is cleansed by boiling! The effect is rather fast too. I detected no remaining greenlite particles on my slides both after boiling and direct flame.”

Glenvar piped in, “Hey, ya think Ocean would survive a little boilin’?”

“No!” barked Alaine.

The man went on, “I’m not sayin’ we cook him like a stew! Just long enough to kill the fungus! C’mon, lobsters ‘n frogs can survive fer a minute or two—why can’t he?”

“We are _not_ boiling our crewman,” Evan told him with finality. “The poor man has been through enough. He’s all alone in that awful basement in the clinic, probably being treated like a lab rat. So each day, I want at least one of you to pay him a visit. Better yet, why not bring him a gift? Just something small to let him know he’s not forgotten.”

A round of groans spread over the table. Skel was the first to express his complaints. “Captain, please! Are you really going to send us into that filthy clinic? It’s a hotbed for germs! I already feel sick just thinking about it!”

“Then I suggest you keep your tongue off the floor,” Evan replied bluntly.

“What about Ocean?” Lukas asked with a smirk. “If we lick him, will it be a fun trip?”

Alaine stood up and exclaimed, “Guys, it’s not funny! What if _you_ had some shitty disease and nobody knew the cure? The last thing you’d need is a bunch of idiots laughing at you!” She slammed her palms against the heavy table, rattling the dishes before her.

Lukas raised his hands as he muttered, “Wow, sore spot...”

Just a seat to Alaine’s left, Balthazaar gently took her arm and guided her back into her chair. “Keep a cool head, Fontaine. We’re just trying to keep our spirits up, that’s all,” he said.

“I guess I could bring Mr. Ocean some flowers,” said Linde. “They’re temporary, you know, so it won’t matter if he contaminates them.”

Evan smiled and told her, “Thank you, Ms. Lumina. That would be perfect.”

Glenvar scraped some of the fish onto a plate. “I’m gonna save some of this trout fer him. It’d be a crime if he didn’t get to taste it! Me ‘n Allie spent three hours tryin’ to catch this slippery bastard and another two hours cookin’ him.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Alaine said, “Thanks, guys. I know he’s kind of weird and the fungus is scary, but…just be nice to him, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Psh, you think we want to make _him_ mad?” said Lukas, gesturing towards the front door. “You saw him mop up that Alliance barracks like a puddle of piss. He could turn this whole village sideways if he felt like it! What’s to stop him from destroying us and taking over the Hollow?”

“His conscience, Lukas,” answered Evan. “He wouldn’t be in that quarantine room if he didn’t have one. As long as we take care of him in his time of need, I’m sure he’ll do the same for us.” He glanced towards Alaine. “And considering how many enemies we’ve made lately, I feel we have no other option.”

*

Several days passed by, and Mr. Ocean spent every minute of them in the clinic’s basement. The quarantine room was sparse when he arrived, with only a cot, a simple shelf holding 3 books, a wash basin and a chamber pot.

Now the shelf was bowing under the weight of books. Pots and vases of flowers decorated the empty corner. Green, two-toed footprints circled the floor where Mr. Ocean had been pacing, the same green residue smeared on the books and shelf.

Upon the back wall, he had dragged his finger over the bricks to draw pictures. From floor to ceiling was a mural depicting simple human-shaped figures standing on an island. Their arms were raised as if dancing—or perhaps panicking—and below the island were many cecaelia-shaped figures among rocks and corals.

He heard the metal door squeak open. Nurse Tojum stepped in with two buckets, one full of sponges and rags, the other with soapy water. She set the buckets in the doorway to keep it open, scowling at his intricate mural.

“Stop that! Stop smearings the germs everywhere!” she scolded. Mr. Ocean quickly folded his hands and sat down on his cot, which was covered by a green-stained sheet.

He offered a sheepish apology as she swiped two dirty metal trays and an apple core and tossed them in a bag.

The chamber pot was filled with cecaelian excrement, which under normal circumstances was a sterile, black, oily substance. But Mr. Ocean’s oil was a vivid, almost luminescent green color, and most certainly not sterile. Nurse Tojum put a lid over the pot, fastening it tightly before taking it out of the room. She would bathe it in fire and return it later.

Then she dipped a sponge into the soapy water and began scrubbing the mural off the wall. Mr. Ocean watched the figures and their homes melt away into a puddle on the floor.

He cleared his throat and asked, “Has Dr. Che heard anything from Morbus?”

“Nots yet,” grunted Tojum, scrubbing furiously at the bricks. “But any days now! Morbus knows cure for everythings. If she can’t helps ye, no one cans. That’s why her medicine costs arms and legs!”

“Can Dr. Che afford this? What if the medicine doesn’t work?” asked Mr. Ocean, his brow knit in concern.

The kobold began scrubbing his footprints off the floor as she replied, “Morbus has big feelings for Dr. Che and gives big discounts. Dr. Che helps Tojum buy medicines to make Tojum chest bigger.” She sat up, gesturing to her breasts bulging under her white coat. “But look! It works! Morbus can helps Tojum, and Tojum believe Morbus can helps ye too.”

“This witch sounds like a true professional,” remarked Mr. Ocean. “If she’s as good as you say, I only wonder why I’ve never heard her name. I would have sought her help much sooner.”

“Nobody trusts Morbus,” the nurse explained, “just like nobody trusts Tojum. Because like Tojum, Morbus is very, very ugly like monsters. Peoples only likes pretty faces! They sees ugly Morbus and think she will poisons them.” She shrugged. “Tojum don’t care. At the end of the days, those peoples lose, because they not gets best medicine and they not meets best kobold, Tojum.”

Mr. Ocean’s lips curved into a smile. “It is a pleasure having met you, my little friend. Thank you for doing all this. It looks exhausting.”

Nurse Tojum used a broom to sweep the soiled water into a large dustpan, then emptied it back in the bucket. She patted the cecaelia’s knee with her gloved hand and told him, “Helping sick peoples is hard. But being sick peoples is more hard. Tojum knows.”

She then wrung out two wet rags. She tossed one to Mr. Ocean, and together, they began wiping his body down from the top of his head to the tips of his tentacles. Over time, a green film built up on his skin. It would eventually intoxicate him if it wasn’t cleansed regularly.

Just as Nurse Tojum was wiping down the last surfaces in the room, Dr. Che stepped through the doorway with a wooden box in his hands. “Hello! How are you feeling?” he asked Mr. Ocean.

The cecaelia’s shoulders jumped. “The same as ever,” he reported.

“Well,” began Dr. Che, “I have good news: Morbus send three medicines for you!” He tipped the box forward, showing its contents. Inside, Mr. Ocean saw a small vial of orange liquid, an eyeball-sized orange orb, and a glass jar of orange paste.

“Three?” the cecaelia queried. “It must have been expensive.”

Dr. Che smiled, shaking his head. “No, I not pay! You see, this medicine is experiment. Morbus not know what will happen. Maybe make better, maybe make worse, or maybe make dead.”

His smile faltered a little as he continued, “If you not want to try, I release you from quarantine and you go live life, because is nothing else I can do. But if you want to try, you not become angry with me if something bad happen. Okay?”

“I have nothing more to lose,” Mr. Ocean told him sullenly. “I may as well try them all.”

“Good! We try medicines one at time. First, this one.” Dr. Che plucked the little vile out of the box and handed it to Mr. Ocean. “Morbus say drink quickly. If not better tomorrow, we try next medicine.”

Mr. Ocean uncorked the vial. His yellow eyes flicked between Dr. Che and Nurse Tojum, watching him with anticipation. He sniffed the vial and recoiled at the sharp, citrus-like scent. But when he swallowed it, he found the taste almost pleasant.

“It tastes fine,” he said, passing the empty vial back to the doctor.

Dr. Che said, “Now we wait for result. Nurse Tojum will bring food soon.”

With that, Nurse Tojum gathered up her cleaning supplies and stepped out of the room with Dr. Che. The satyr watched the cecaelia through the glass wall for a moment. Mr. Ocean simply sat on his cot, idly tapping his claws against his knees.

Just as they turned to head up the stairs, they were startled by ragged, gurgling screeches that could only come from an Aquarian. Mr. Ocean was staggering around the room, clawing at his throat and belly. Green ooze suddenly blasted from his mouth, the force of it knocking his back against the glass wall. He whirled around and sprayed an arc of ooze against the glass before collapsing on the floor.

Dr. Che and Nurse Tojum rushed back inside the room. The cecaelia was violently convulsing on the floor, spraying vivid green slime from both ends. It splattered the floors and walls around him. Even the ceiling above did not go unscathed.

Nurse Tojum jumped up and down, wailing in a panic, “No, no, no! Stops making a mess! Tojum _just_ cleans!”

*

Mr. Ocean rested in his cot, covered by a damp sheet to keep his skin hydrated. A wet cloth lie on his forehead. The violent side effects of the orange liquid wore off some time ago, leaving him to recover for the rest of the evening.

Now the short autumn day was tipping into a cold autumn night. The metal door to the quarantine room opened and Nurse Tojum stood on the other side, accompanied by a plump, orange-haired satyress. She held a small burlap sack in her hands.

“Wakes up, sleepy head,” said Nurse Tojum. “You haves a visitor!”

The busy kobold turned and disappeared back up the stairs as Ginger cautiously stepped into the room. Mr. Ocean sat up and squinted at her. She was not one of the mercenaries.

“Hello there,” she said, offering a meek little wave. “I’m Ginger of Stonebirch. I-I’m not really part of the Freelance Good Guys, but I do help them with domestic work around the compound. You’ll probably see me a lot when when you get out of here.”

Mr. Ocean blinked his sticky eyes. His throat was still sore, voice ragged when he replied, “I am Mr. Ocean of Tekee. I’m happy to meet you, Ginger of Stonebirch.”

Ginger’s freckled cheeks plumped when she smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said. “I heard you were sick with some terrible illness. I know hospital food isn’t great, so I thought you might like a treat? Um, if not, please don’t feel obligated to eat it…”

Her hooves click-clacked on the stone floor as she approached him and offered the bag. The cecaelia looked inside and saw a dozen little oblongs wrapped in rice paper, twisted at each end.

“It’s candy,” Ginger explained. “My husband, Itchy, makes it from scratch. I was talking to Alaine the other day and she told me you like seafood, so I had him make this batch special for you.”

Mr. Ocean briefly glanced up at her, then took a candy out of the bag. He carefully unwrapped it. The round eye of a tiny raw fish looked back at him, encased in layers of sticky, clear amber. He snaked out his pointed tongue to lick it, then queried, “Candied minnows?”

“Yes! I hope they taste okay. We’ve never made them before. But we have made candied beetles, so we thought, ‘How different could it be?’ You can even eat the paper, it’s made of rice.”

Truth be told, Mr. Ocean still felt nauseated from Morbus’ defective medicine. But the satyress standing before him seemed so pleasant, so thoughtful, and he was so taken aback by her kindness that he popped the entire candy into his mouth anyway, paper and all. He chewed it for a long, thoughtful moment, fighting his body’s instinct to spit it out.

He could not fight the strained expression on his face, however. Ginger saw right through him, her furry goat-like ears dropping when she said, “Oh, I guess they didn’t turn out very good. Darn. I’m so sorry!”

Mr. Ocean forced himself to swallow it and quickly assured her, “I haven’t much appetite now, that’s all. It was thoughtful of you to go through all this trouble. Especially for someone you’ve never met.”

“Well, if the Good Guys like you, you must be a good guy yourself,” she said. “They’ve helped my family many times in the past. I spend a lot of time around the compound, so I’m sure we’ll get to know eachother better in the future.”

The cecaelia’s brow sagged heavily over his somber eyes. “I can only hope so,” he said.

*

The following morning, Mr. Ocean was feeling better, so Dr. Che decided it was time to try the next medicine in Morbus’ arsenal. He stood by and observed while Nurse Tojum opened the jar of salve. She recoiled at its pungent stench, exclaiming, “Stinks like kobold slums in Wheatfield!” She pinched her nostrils and turned to Mr. Ocean, sitting on the cot before her. “Are ye sures ye wants this?”

“I’d just like to get it over with, please,” he replied.

Dr. Che stood a decidedly long distance away as he advised, “Morbus say rub this medicine on patient’s back only. Use all so jar is empty.”

Mr. Ocean laid down on his belly in the cot while the nurse spread the paste around his back. She applied it from the nape of his neck to the area where his flesh split into a skirt of tentacles. When the jar was empty, Dr. Che asked, “You feel different now?”

“Not yet,” said Mr. Ocean, sitting upright. “It just feels a bit warm.”

“Hm. Warm, yes,” mumbled the doctor, scribbling something on a small notepad. The feathered end of his pen waggled rapidly. Meanwhile, Nurse Tojum rushed to swipe the empty chamber pot off the floor and place it in front of the cecaelia.

“If ye has to throws up, throws up in there,” she told him. “ _Not_ on the floors! Or walls or ceilings!”

“I feel fine so far,” reported Mr. Ocean.

Heading for the door, Dr. Che said brightly, “Good! We will check again soon. Come, Nurse Tojum. Lots of patients waiting.”

Satyr and kobold left the quarantine room. They paused outside for a moment, watching Mr. Ocean through the glass. He was calmly reading one of his books. They traded hopeful smiles and returned to the clinic above.

After tending a couple patients in the lobby, Nurse Tojum was sent back downstairs. She wobbled down each step, cursing her uneven legs, and peered through the glass wall at the bottom.

Her eyes rounded when she saw Mr. Ocean writhing wildly on the cot. Fearing he’d gone into convulsions again, she fumbled for her keys and rushed through the door. “Whats the matter? Are ye dyings?” she blurted.

“It burns! It burns like fire!” the cecaelia nearly sobbed. He pushed himself upright and twisted, exposing his back. His once smooth, aqua flesh was marred by angry red blisters, some of them obviously torn open from his scratching claws. “I’m trying to heal it with my magic, but I can’t see it and I can’t reach it and my flesh must be falling off, please, please, help me!” he pleaded, his voice frantic and desperate.

“Just stays here and stops scratching!” ordered Nurse Tojum, already half-way out the door. “Tojum gets itch cream!”

*

After three days, Mr. Ocean’s rash had finally cleared. Dr. Che decided he was fit to try the third and final medicine.

The air in the quarantine room was tense as the doctor and nurse entered. If this didn’t work, Mr. Ocean’s suffering would be prolonged even further, the clinic would suffer the burden of his quarantine, and the Freelance Good Guys would suffer his absence.

Dr. Che approached Mr. Ocean with the orange, eyeball-sized capsule. It was hard like glass. Mr. Ocean looked at the size in comparison to the doctor’s hand and remarked, “This looks too big to swallow. I’m afraid I may choke. Can we cut it in half?”

Dr. Che wore a strained smile as he replied, “You not swallow it. Turn around and bend over bed, please. Nurse Tojum will administer.”

“What?” blurted the kobold. Dr. Che pushed the capsule towards her, forcing her to catch it. She loudly protested, “Tojum not shovings this up his butt! Ye does it! Ye does it or Tojum quits!”

Dr. Che assured her, “Fish-men not have anus. They have cloaca, like chicken.”

“Same things! Nasty, nasty, nasty!” the kobold wailed, trying to hand the capsule back.

Mr. Ocean reached out and took the capsule from her. “Perhaps it would be best for everyone if I just did this myself,” he said.

His doctor and nurse left him in to do so in privacy, promising to come back and check on him later. As they tended to other patients, Jeimos walked into the clinic and requested a visit with Mr. Ocean. Nurse Tojum peeled off her blood-stained gloves and escorted the elf downstairs.

“He takes his last medicine todays, so hopefully—” the nurse began, stopping abruptly when they reached the basement. Through the glass wall, they once again saw Mr. Ocean violently convulsing on the floor. His limbs and tentacles flailed every which way, contorting into bizarre and unnatural positions.

“Oh, my stars! W-what’s happening to him?” fretted Jeimos.

Nurse Tojum slapped a hand over her face and groaned, “Uuuugh, nots again! I gets Dr. Che. Comes back later!”

*

Dr. Che rushed to the quarantine room with a full bag of medical supplies. Morbus’ last experimental medicine had failed. Still, he was not ready to give up on this most curious case.

The doctor set his bag on the floor beside the convulsing cecaelia, rifling through it until he found two halves of a bamboo blowgun. He quickly twisted them together and loaded a dart in one end. He drew in a deep breath and blew into the opposite end. The dart shot forth and stuck into Mr. Ocean’s hip.

His two hearts rapidly pumped the drug inside throughout his bloodstream. Before long, Mr. Ocean’s convulsions stopped. He lie in a deep, peaceful sleep on the floor as Dr. Che spread out his tools on a towel.

Nurse Tojum stood nearby, watching in befuddlement as he lay out scalpels and other sharp instruments. “Whats ye doings now? Puttings him out of his misery?” she asked.

Dr. Che shook his head. “I am going to look inside him. Maybe find something I cannot see before,” he told her.

“Ye goings to do surgery withouts even asking? Dr. Che!”

“We running out of time,” the satyr said, picking up a scalpel. Nurse Tojum cringed as he made a long incision down Mr. Ocean’s torso, clear down to his belly. “Fish-men very tough, very good at not having the death. Surgery will not harm.”

Nurse Tojum let out a shriek when the incision was opened. Dr. Che himself recoiled at the sight of the cecaelia’s plagued innards. Every tissue and organ was infested by clusters of tiny green mushrooms, each one glowing dimly with bioluminescence. Their roots weaved over flesh like spiderwebs.

“It’s horrible! Closes him! _Burns him!”_ cried Nurse Tojum.

“Wait. I take sample for Morbus,” said Dr. Che, then he carefully clipped some of the little mushrooms away and placed them into a jar with tweezers. He sealed the jar tightly. Mr. Ocean was still unconscious as the incision was stitched up. It took the combined efforts of the doctor and nurse to move him into his cot.

Dr. Che covered him with a damp sheet. He patted the cecaelia’s forehead with his gloved hand and told him, “No worry. We not give up yet.”

*

_EARLY_ _WINTER, 6006_

Two weeks dragged by. Mr. Ocean knew so, for he scratched a tally mark into the brick wall with his claw each day. He finished his books and Evan only brought him more. His flowers died and Linde only brought him more. When he grew sick of the bland hospital food, Ginger showed up with candy and Glenvar with his catch of the day.

In the dead quiescence of night, Mr. Ocean almost felt like he was back in his cave in Tekee. There he had rotted away in his own filth and loneliness for many years. He could not see the outdoors from down in this basement, but he knew the sun was up when Nurse Tojum arrived to care for him. He knew it was noon when one of the mercenaries showed up to visit. He knew it was dinner time when someone brought him good food.

Now it was noon and Alaine had come to keep him company. She stood before him with her arms crossed, mindful not to touch anything in the room. Hunched over on his cot, he said to her, “The longer I am denied intoxication, the more I remember why I craved it in the first place. Reality is a bleak place.”

Alaine corrected him, “It’s a bleak place _right now_. You aren’t a minervae, you can’t see the future. You don’t know what tomorrow will be like.”

“I can assume,” he began, “that tomorrow I will still be infested by greenlite fungus. Whether I choose to stay in this room or not, the greenlite will always isolate me. I fear I can never find the love I seek as long as I’m plagued.” He frowned. “A life without love is a life without purpose.”

“We’re not giving up on you, Ocean,” Alaine said, her tone solid with determination. “Just because no one’s found the solution doesn’t mean it’s not out there. You know, when I was a kid, my dad got sick with a rare disease. The only thing that could cure him was a mermaid scale. So you know what I did? While the rest of Laraine was already mourning his death, I ran my eight-year-old ass off to Gryphon Bay to skin a mermaid. Then I…”

She paused, then sighed, “Well, you can see how that story ended. My point is, when I want something, I don’t quit until I get it. I want you to be well, Mr. Ocean. I want you to find peace in your life. I _don’t_ want you to just give up, wallow in your misery, and become a danger to anyone again. That includes yourself.”

The cecaelia’s expression looked strained, as if he suffered a pain deep inside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the clip-clop of cloven hooves. Dr. Che stepped into the room with something clutched in his fist.

“I have something for you!” he said to Mr. Ocean, his tone joyful and bright. He opened his fist, revealing a black marble in his palm. “Is new medicine from Morbus! Will you try? You need only to swallow.”

Mr. Ocean shuddered, turning his head away from the offering. He could already feel his stomach rolling, his flesh burning, his muscles jerking…

“No,” he said. Both Dr. Che and Alaine were surprised by his answer.

“No?” queried Alaine. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Mr. Ocean rose to his feet. “There is no hope for me,” he said quietly. “These horrible concoctions only make things worse. I wish to leave now.”

He began walking towards the open door. Alaine jumped in his path and barked, “Ocean! Seriously? After all this, you’re just going to give up?”

Sorrow weighed down his eyes as he replied, “I’m tired of suffering. I’m tired of disappointment. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Alaine tossed her hand towards Dr. Che. “How do you know you’ll be disappointed? He has a new solution for you _right there_ that you haven’t even tried!”

“Please leave me be,” mumbled Mr. Ocean. “I’m returning to Redwood Island. I will not be able to harm anyone there.”

He stepped around her and headed for the stairs. Before his foot touched the first step, Alaine yanked him back by his cranial tentacles. She shoved him against the brick wall, holding the marble up to his face. “Just take the damn pill, Ocean,” she growled.

Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she threw the pill into his mouth and clamped a hand over his lips. He tried to wriggle away, but she kept her hold on his head and clung to him like a spider.

“I’m not letting you quit on yourself! Swallow it!” she ordered. She felt his tentacles wrap around her legs, his hands grasping her wrists. He could have thrown her across the room with little effort, surely could have used a magic spell to subdue her. Yet he did neither of those things. Rather, he froze there and the two stared eachother down for what felt like an eternity.

Dr. Che stood nearby, reluctant to intervene. Mr. Ocean looked into Alaine’s determined gaze. She met his eyes, her own burning with intensity. “If you can’t find love anywhere else,” she began through her teeth, “then at least find it in yourself. If you loved someone, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save them?”

Another tense moment of silence passed between them. Mr. Ocean couldn’t meet her gaze any longer, for her intensity had burned through his resolve. Finally, his neck bobbed as he swallowed the pill. She felt his tentacles slowly unwrap themselves from her limbs, and then she let him go in return.

Alaine stepped away from the cecaelia with a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. Dr. Che rushed towards her and pointed out the green residue left behind on her hands, legs, and the front of her short dress.

“No touch anything! Please wash hands in basin upstairs. I tell Nurse Tojum to boil water,” he said, then he turned to Mr. Ocean. “You should stay in room. If something go wrong with medicine, I fix. Okay?”

Without a word, Mr. Ocean returned to the quarantine room. The doctor closed the door behind him. Alaine looked back at Mr. Ocean through the glass as she climbed the stairs. He refused to meet her gaze again.

*

Mr. Ocean knew night was falling when Nurse Tojum came to tend to him for the third and final time that day. After she left, he would be on his own until morning.

He swallowed the marble-like pill many hours ago. He spent every minute of that time bracing himself for anguish, but the worst he could complain about was a slightly dry mouth and a headache that annoyed him more than it pained him.

Nurse Tojum dipped a rag into a bucket of clean water, wrung it out, and began wiping the layer of film that had accumulated on Mr. Ocean’s skin. The film was similar to the color of his flesh, so it was not visible unless too much time had passed. It was always visible on the white fabric regardless.

Nurse Tojum pulled the rag away, cocking her head at it. It was still white, not a trace of green to be found. She pressed it against Mr. Ocean’s shoulder and scrubbed harder. He sat on the cot in silence as she rubbed the rag from head to toe, stopping to check it every few seconds.

Then she held the rag by its top corners, showing it to him as she announced, “Looks! Looks at this! It’s still white!”

The cecaelia raised his brows. He snatched the rag from her and closely examined it for himself. “That can’t be…” he muttered.

Nurse Tojum snatched it back. “Waits a minute,” she said, then she wrapped it around her finger and shoved it in his mouth. Mr. Ocean recoiled, thrashing about in surprise as she swirled it around inside. He coughed and sputtered when she pulled the rag out, about to launch a complaint at her. Then they both saw the pristine white color of the rag and shared wide-eyed stares.

Nurse Tojum’s expression brightened into a wide grin. “It works! Ye not spreads germs anymore! Tojum knew ye would gets better!” she cackled, then tossed the rag behind her and threw her arms around the cecaelia.

Mr. Ocean’s jaw fell slack. He was speechless, in utter disbelief. No, he thought, there was no way it could be true. Bad fortune was surely waiting just around the corner!

“Dr. Che gonna cry, cry, cry happy tears!” exclaimed Nurse Tojum, nearly shedding a tear herself. “And no mores twelve-hour shifts fer Tojum! We comes back tomorrow, and if ye still healthy, we finally lets ye go!”

*

The next morning came and went, and so too did the afternoon. Still Mr. Ocean suffered no debilitating side effects from Morbus’ latest solution, nor did the green residue return. Even the oil in his chamber pot was black as it should have been.

Now night was falling again and Jeimos decided to visit before the clinic closed down for the night. Nurse Tojum escorted the elf to the quarantine room as she began her evening care routine.

She dunked a white rag into a bucket of water, wringing it out as she told Jeimos, “Morbus really cures him! Looks at this. I wipes his skin and…” The kobold dragged the rag down Mr. Ocean’s shoulder.

Then, just as Mr. Ocean found a glimmer of hope, that bad fortune he feared finally came to reap it. Nurse Tojum showed the rag to Jeimos with a wide, crooked grin. But the elf only raised their crimson eyebrow and queried, “Is it…is it supposed to be green?”

The smile dropped from Nurse Tojum’s face. She flipped the rag around and gasped in horror at the green residue left behind. Flipping it over to the clean side, she scrubbed Mr. Ocean’s head. When she pulled it away, that side had turned green too.

“No, no, no, _damns it_!” the kobold wailed and stomped her foot, pitching the rag onto the floor. “He was betters! All nights and all days, no green at all! Now green again!” She let out a frustrated growl, mumbling something about Dr. Che before storming out of the room and back up the stairs.

Jeimos looked back at Mr. Ocean. He was silently hunched over on the cot with his face buried in his hands. He didn’t have to speak—his body language said enough.

Kneeling before him, Jeimos said softly, “I am so sorry.”

“I should have never tried to recreate greenbrite,” the cecaelia mumbled beneath his palms. “I should have left well enough alone. What a fool I was! I have no one to blame for this but myself…”

He slowly lifted his head, dragging his claws down his face in the process. “And yet,” he continued, “despite all this pain and misery, I have no doubt that I would swallow a dose of greenbrite if it were sitting here before me. I must really be defective beyond measure, and far beyond help!”

“No one who wants help is beyond it,” Jeimos told him sharply. Suddenly their gaze dropped to the floor, and so too did the confidence in their voice when they continued, “I, er…I don’t like talking about this to just anyone. But I feel like you, of all people, would not judge me for it. I think you would understand. So if I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it forever?”

Mr. Ocean’s expression softened. “I promise to keep your secret forever,” he said.

Knowing he was bound by fae truth, Jeimos cleared their throat and began, “Back in my youth, I developed a terrible addiction to pyre dust. I too felt like such a fool for so very long. But looking back on my life and my circumstances at the time, I’ve become willing to forgive myself for that foolishness. What a miserable reality I lived back then! I was trapped under the oppression of the Damijana Empire. I had no love for anyone and no hope for anything…”

Absently picking at their black glove, Jeimos went on, “Obviously things have changed since then. Now I have more love and hope in my life than I know what to do with. My blessings are more than I can count and my friends are more than I deserve. But you know what?”

They forced themselves to look Mr. Ocean in the eyes, wincing as they admitted, “Not a single day passes by where I don’t long for that blasted dust. I haven’t touched it in decades, and the void I thought it was filling has been truly filled. That drug made me miserable, led to twenty years of homelessness and damn near got me killed! Yet if someone left me alone with a vial of pyre dust and a canteen of petrol, I would have to fight myself tooth and nail not to do it all again.”

Mr. Ocean blinked, tilting his head in disbelief. “You were a drug addict?” he queried. “I never would have guessed, my friend. You seem so brilliant, so sophisticated. You’re not at all a doddering, sloppy fool like myself.”

The elf smiled, though their eyes were heavy with pain. “You only see what I choose to show,” they told him. “My point is, your past does not determine your future. If a disaster like me can rise above my mistakes, I see no reason why you can’t do the same.”

*

Dr. Che begged Mr. Ocean to stay in quarantine for just a few more days. “I tell problem to Morbus. Maybe she can fix?” he said.

So Mr. Ocean endured four more days in the basement of the clinic, until finally, Dr. Che returned with a letter in one hand and another black marble-like pill in the other.

“Morbus send more medicine!” he said brightly. “She want no gold, she only want green water for payment.”

Mr. Ocean’s brows shot up. “Why would she want that?” he asked.

With a shrug, Dr. Che replied, “I not know. You take bath and collect water, then I give you medicine and you can ask her.”

“You’re releasing me from quarantine?”

“Yes, as long as you take medicine,” explained Dr. Che. “Morbus say she want one jug of water for one medicine. You take many jugs to Morbus, come home with many medicines.”

The doctor scribbled directions onto a scrap of paper and gave it to Mr. Ocean. The cecaelia then returned to the boarding house to bathe and the mercenaries carefully helped him collect the tainted bathwater. It was sealed in seven glass moonshine jugs they found littered around Glenvar’s houseboat.

In the interest of time, Isaac offered Mr. Ocean a ride in Shadow’s gazebo. The cecaelia clutched all seven jugs in his tentacles, desperately trying to keep them from sliding around during the ride. Before long, the roc touched down on the outskirts of Tonsborg.

Tonsborg was a large Folkvaran city on the eastern coast of Noalen, standing northeast of Woodborne. Isaac picked up two of the jugs, carrying them on his shoulders. Mr. Ocean carried the rest in his tentacles as they made their way down the bustling main road of the city.

It hadn’t yet snowed in Drifter’s Hollow, but flakes were beginning to fall here in Tonsborg. The wind blowing off the sea was salty in Isaac’s mouth and stinging-cold against his cheeks.

They entered a large, decaying wooden building towering many stories high. As they ascended the creaky stairs, Isaac panted, “I met Morbus once before. I think she’s kind of crazy, but in a good way.” He paused, then added, “Um, don’t freak out when you see her, okay? She has some kind of curse that makes her look…different. I made a face the first time I saw her and I still feel bad about it.”

“Very well,” Mr. Ocean replied slowly, uncertainly. At last, they reached the correct door on the correct floor. Isaac set the jugs down and knocked.

“Don’t freak out,” he repeated quietly. Mr. Ocean nodded.

Despite his best efforts, the cecaelia jumped when the door swung open and he saw what stood on the other side. She was an elf—or a human? Perhaps a goblin? She was so gaunt, so wrinkled, so utterly ghastly that he could not even tell her species.

Pointed, misshapen ears stuck out from her head of white hair, its length falling down to her waist. Her decrepit body was drowning in oversized dark robes.

Her crooked eyes were dolled up with layers of eyeshadow, and she wore very thick, false lashes on her eyelids. The makeup did nothing to hide her sickly green skin. It was gnarled like tree bark. Her nose seemed to be slowly rotting away, leaving little behind but two nostrils in the center of her face.

“What do you want?” she croaked. She had the ragged voice of a dedicated smoker.

Isaac cleared his throat and replied, “Hi, Ms. Morbus. I’m Isaac from Drifter’s Hollow. You probably don’t remember me, but we met once last year.” He gestured to the cecaelia behind him, whose face was still contorted in disgust. “This is Mr. Ocean. We’re here about his medicine…?”

Morbus furrowed her painted brows. Her green eyes flicked towards the glass gallon-jugs around them, then her face lit up and she threw the door wide open. “Oh, yes! Yes, yes, do come in!” she said.

Her visitors gathered their jugs and stepped through the threshold. Morbus closed the door behind them and said, “Make yourselves comfortable, dears! I have the medicine lying around here somewhere, just give me a moment!” With that, she rushed off down a narrow corridor and disappeared into another room. The corridor was not lined with walls, but with dusty books stacked to the ceiling.

The tiny apartment was closed in by clutter. There was a sense of organized chaos to the mess, though the sheer volume of books, bottles and jars, boxes, and various clutter was overwhelming to the eye. Floor space was a valuable commodity, open mostly around the old couch covered in lace doilies. Isaac and Mr. Ocean carefully set the jugs on the floor.

As they waited for Morbus to return, they saw glowing eyes appear in the shadows of the hoard. Another pair appeared, and another, until over ten black cats began slowly creeping out to greet them.

“Hi, kitties! Do you remember me?” gasped Isaac. He immediately dropped to his knees to pet the cats. They rubbed against him in a flurry of mewls and purrs. Some of them quickly lost interest and approached Mr. Ocean. The cecaelia raised his hands and stepped away, but they only followed, meowing loudly as they circled his feet.

One of them sank its fangs into his ankle. Mr. Ocean jerked his foot away and said, “My friend, the beasts are eating me.”

“No they’re not,” Isaac cooed, piled with curious cats. “They like you!”

“Their affection is painful,” insisted Mr. Ocean, prying one of the animals off of his tentacle with another. The cats suddenly scattered, disappearing back into the shadows when they heard Morbus clumsily making her way back into the room.

She held a small sack in her hand. “Here they are,” she said, opening the sack to reveal the black marbles inside. “Seven pills for seven jugs. That’s more than fair, isn’t it? Now, sit down and let me tell you about this stuff. Otherwise you’ll use it incorrectly and blame _me_ when something goes wrong…”

Isaac and Mr. Ocean took their seats on the couch. Morbus flopped down beside them and explained, “I have no idea what this fungus of yours is. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my 153 years on Gaia! But that lovely Dr. Che tells me he did some exploratory surgery, and he found it infesting everything inside you, including your organs. I can only assume that includes your brain.”

“He did surgery on me?” Mr. Ocean muttered, shooting a questioning look at Isaac. Isaac simply shrugged.

Morbus went on, “I do wish he told me that in the first place! I assume that’s why my first concoctions made you so miserable. You see, those were all _very_ potent fungicides. But if the fungus has rooted itself in your organs, I can’t see any way to kill it without killing the host. I’m afraid you’re stuck with these mushrooms for life unless you happen to cross a more creative alchemist.”

“Many centuries have yielded nothing better,” admitted Mr. Ocean.

Morbus nodded and continued, “Then I recommend taking one of those pills every day. They won’t kill the fungus, but they will neutralize the toxin it produces for about twenty-four hours. Instead of coming through your skin like it has been, the toxin should be passed harmlessly in your waste.”

“It won’t poison the water? Or the soil?” asked Isaac.

“It shouldn’t,” answered Morbus, “so long as you take your next dose on time. I mean it! Don’t get lazy about taking your pills and then come crying to me when they don’t work!”

Mr. Ocean told her, “I cannot express my gratitude enough, Ms. Morbus. You are a brilliant alchemist. I was sure I’d be a toxic wretch forever, but what you’ve done for me has turned my whole life around. I…” He shook his head slightly, breathless as he finished, “I still don’t feel like this is real. Is this medicine known to cause hallucinations, by chance?”

The witch threw her head back and cackled. She waved her hand and assured him, “No, dear, nothing like that! It shouldn’t cause more than a tummy ache, at worst. Drink some ginger tea and you’ll be fine. I have some for sale, if you’d like!”

Isaac said, “Maybe next time. We’re kind of broke right now.”

“Yes, thank you for allowing me pay with this water in lieu of gold,” added Mr. Ocean, gesturing to the jugs on the floor. “Though I warn you, you must dispose of it carefully. It has an addictive, intoxicating effect.”

“Dr. Che already warned me about all that in his letter,” said Morbus with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“May I ask what you’re planning to do with it?”

Braiding her fingers together, Morbus replied, “I’m going to use it for research purposes.” A brief silence passed, as if she were withholding more words behind her tongue.

Mr. Ocean’s gills twitched as he cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I’ll return next week when I run out of pills.”

“Yes, please do! It’s been a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Ocean,” said Morbus, extending her gnarled hand for a shake.

Mr. Ocean hesitated. Then he remembered the medicine inside him, neutralizing his toxin. He clasped her hands between both of his own. “Thank you,” he told her earnestly. “From the bottom of my hearts, my friend.”

He and Isaac headed towards the door. Morbus called just before they stepped out, “Do tell Dr. Che to tag along next time you visit! I’ll make my bed up nice for him!”

Mr. Ocean cocked his head, baffled. Isaac cringed and dragged him into the hall. They could hear Morbus cackling to herself behind her door as they made their way back down the stairwell.

Shadow was waiting for them in the open outskirts of town. Isaac and Mr. Ocean walked down the main street of Tonsborg, weaving between townsfolk, horses, and carriages passing them by. The corners were claimed by beggars and prostitutes in this busy part of town. Isaac walked with his pockets turned inside out after the third time he was asked for coins.

An elfenne in a corset stood on the corner up ahead, smoking a cigarette from a long holder. Isaac kept his eyes down as he passed, yet she still grabbed his shoulder and propositioned him. “Where are you going in such a hurry, handsome?” she queried.

“No thanks,” Isaac sighed and shrugged her off.

“You are very popular around here,” observed Mr. Ocean.

Isaac let out a gruff sigh and told him, “Folks in Tonsborg think all humans are rich or something. Ugh, I forgot how annoying this place is! Let’s get off the main street.”

The two turned down a narrow alleyway. They stepped over puddles and trash until they found themselves on a newer, quieter block. But they hardly crossed another when someone grabbed Mr. Ocean’s wrist.

He quickly turned, brows arching at the person before him. She was a mermaid, blue of lips and scaly of face like them all. But her shaven head told her story—she was a soldier for the Oceanic Resistance.

Or she used to be, for it seemed she had traded her armor for a revealing dress and high-heeled boots. “You!” she gasped, squeezing Mr. Ocean’s wrist in both of her hands. “What nerve you have! How dare you show your face here!”

Mr. Ocean’s jaw fell slack. He looked back at Isaac, who looked no less shocked than he. The cecaelia tried to pull away, but her grip held fast. “I was just leaving,” he told her quietly.

She jerked his wrist and growled through her teeth, “No! I won’t let you abandon me again! Look at me—look at my life!” She finally released him, gesturing to her low-class ensemble. “This is all your fault, Ocean! You screwed over every one of us, you selfish pig!”

She balled her fist and took a swing, swift as a cobra. The cecaelia doubled over as she struck him in the gut, then she delivered a roundhouse kick to his head. Mr. Ocean fell into the muddy gutter, dazed by the stars in his eyes.

Isaac jumped in front of him before the mermaid could strike again. He unsheathed a dagger off his belt and barked, “Stop! Don’t touch him again or you’ll get hurt!”

The mermaid hesitated, more in amusement than any kind of fear. Then she grabbed Isaac’s armed hand by the wrist and twisted, flipping him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The young man arced over her and hit the ground with a yelp.

He scrambled back to his feet and raised his dagger, then realized it wasn’t in his hand anymore. It was in hers, and she was pointing it right at his throat. “Get lost, kid. This is between me and him,” she said, nodding towards Mr. Ocean.

Just as the cecaelia began rising to his feet, she kicked him back down and growled, “Are you happy with yourself? Leaving us all to fend for ourselves like a bunch of stray dogs? You took us in and promised to protect us!”

Mr. Ocean coughed, “I _am_ protecting you. I’m protecting you from myself.”

“Bullshit!” the mermaid shouted and kicked him once more, this time in the side. “You knew we were losing the war and you jumped ship like a coward! What about us, Ocean?”

Isaac stood there helplessly, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against this veteran dorikori. If she was even half the combatant Alaine was, she’d twist his head off his shoulders before he could land a hit. He focused his pleading gaze on passersby, but they only averted their own. Surely they weren’t eager to step between an angry prostitute and her client.

“Leaving was the best thing I could do for you,” Mr. Ocean told her. “I was poisoning you with greenlite! I made you my thrall!”

She stamped her foot and shouted, “And then you took it away and abandoned me without a care! I haven’t slept in days! I’m sick to my stomach, I shake like a leaf, and I _itch_! You cruel bastard, why did you take it from me?”

“Greenlite should have never been your burden in the first place,” said Mr. Ocean. “Even now, it weighs as heavily on me as it does on you. We are in this together, my friend. We must both fill the hole that greenlite has carved into our hearts.”

“Don’t call me ‘friend’! I’m not your damn friend—not anymore!” the mermaid shouted. Her attention was so fixated on the cecaelia, her rage burning so hot, Isaac seized the opportunity to look around for an escape. Cautiously, he crept towards a bucket sitting near a gutter.

The mermaid kneeled before Mr. Ocean and grabbed his cranial tentacles in one hand, pressing the dagger to his throat with the other. She spoke through her teeth when she said, “You can still make this up to me. You can follow me back to the inn on your own two feet, or we can leave your whole body behind. Either way, you’re _my_ thrall now. I’ll suck the greenlite out of you like a damn vampire if I have to!”

Just as Mr. Ocean opened his mouth to speak, he quickly closed it, for a torrent of cold gutter-water suddenly splashed over him. Isaac dumped water over the mermaid’s short hair, forcing her to transform into her legless aquatic form. She fell onto the street, flailing in confusion for just a second before he slammed the bucket tightly over her head.

Isaac pulled Mr. Ocean back to his feet, dragging him down another alleyway. Mr. Ocean briefly looked back at the mermaid. She pulled the bucket away with a gasp, turning her head around frantically. She spotted the cecaelia’s glowing yellow eyes in the shadows. She shouted at him, but without legs, she was helpless to give chase as he disappeared.

*

The sun began to fall. Alaine was on her way home, having just finished a minor contract from one of the villagers in Drifter’s Hollow. The client paid her a fat sum to pull their equally fat cat’s head out of a jar of peanut butter. She walked back to her lake house covered in scratches—battle scars from a job well done.

She saw her house ahead, a round shack sitting on stilts above the water. Glenvar’s tiny, red boathouse floated nearby. She crossed the long dock leading up to her porch, only half-way there when a clawed hand suddenly shot up from the water and clutched the planks. Alaine jumped back with a shriek.

But it was only Mr. Ocean, she realized. Excess water gushed from the gills on his neck, the clear nictitating membranes sliding away from his eyes as he hoisted himself onto the dock. He sat on its edge, feet and tentacles still dangling into the water. He waved at Alaine and greeted, “Hello.”

Alaine’s eyes jumped back and forth between his face and his feet. “Um,” she began, clearing her throat, “hi. Decided to have a swim, huh?”

“I’m no longer toxic,” he quickly assured her. “That witch in Tonsborg brewed a medicine for me, and Dr. Che said that as long as I take it every day, I am free from quarantine.”

A smile spread over Alaine’s blue lips. She gasped, “Wow! Mr. Ocean, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you! I’d give you a hug, but I…I mean, could I?”

The cecaelia said nothing, simply smiled back and spread his arms. Alaine kneeled beside him, threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. She examined the front of her dress when she pulled away, finding no green residue left behind.

“So,” she began, “you have to take this stuff every day? Won’t that get expensive?”

Mr. Ocean shook his head and replied, “She doesn’t ask for gold. All she wants in return are samples of greenlite water. When I run out of medicine, I will collect my bathwater and bring it to her for more.”

A crease appeared beside Alaine’s nostril as she said, “What? What does she want that nasty water for?”

“For further research, I assume. Even she could not really cure my condition, but she was at least able to treat it. I’m very grateful for that.”

The uncertainty hadn’t left Alaine’s face. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “That stuff could be dangerous if it ends up in the wrong hands. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you again.”

Mr. Ocean told her, “But Morbus is brilliant, and she is my friend. She was not unkind to me at all.”

Alaine sighed, “Not everyone who shows you basic decency is your ‘friend’. You have to raise the bar a little, Ocean.”

The cecaelia fell silent for a moment. Then he cocked his head and asked her, “Are we friends, Alaine Fontaine of Laraine?”

Alaine hesitated. “Well, do you care about me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do you like being around me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I’m your friend,” said Alaine. “But ask yourself this: are you _my_ friend?”

Mr. Ocean paused in thought. Then he answered, “You must care about me, because when you saw how sick I was, you reached out to help me when no one else would. You must enjoy my company or you would not be sitting here, speaking to me now. And you must trust me, because you asked me to be part of your crew. I think I am your friend.”

Alaine pulled off her shoes and dipped her feet in the water beside his. “You thought right,” she told him with a toothy smile. They sat together for a long moment, watching the gentle ripple of the lake ahead. The last rays of sunlight beamed over its surface like liquid gold.

Mr. Ocean took in a deep breath. He let it out slowly through his nostrils as he leaned his elbows on his knees. Finally he turned to Alaine and said, “I owe my life to you, my friend.”

Alaine almost chuckled, “Oh, shut up...”

“You did not give up on me, despite the risk I posed to you,” he continued. “You must know what I’m capable of, illness or not. It took great courage to stand up to me.”

“Courage or stupidity, one of the two,” Alaine muttered with a roll of her eyes. “The Guys always say my heart runs faster than my brain. Well, my brain just caught up and I think I understand what they mean now.”

A smile crossed Mr. Ocean’s face, warm and genuine. He said, “I knew one like you before, a very long time ago. She was strong of mind and bold of heart. I was treated so poorly for so long, I did not know love until I knew her. Her people did not appreciate the things that made her wonderful. They called her ‘foolish’ and ‘brash’, but perhaps it takes a brash fool to stand up to a monster like me. She did not give up on me either, even when it was in her best interest to do so.”

“You’re not a monster,” said Alaine. “You’re just sick. And I’m not just talking about the greenlite. Obviously you were sick before that, or you wouldn’t have destroyed yourself with it in the first place.”

The cecaelia’s gaze dropped to the water, looking down at his sullen reflection. He said nothing, so Alaine added, “My mom did that too. She suffered from some kind of sadness she didn’t want to talk about, so she smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Everyone called her a ‘failure’, a ‘bad mom’, this and that, but they never saw how much she loved me. I did. I saw every side of her, not just the ugly parts.”

Gently kicking her feet in the water, Alaine went on, “There’s psychopaths out there who just hurt people for the thrill of it. I know you’re not one of them. I saw someone who desperately needed help, and I couldn’t call myself a Good Guy if I didn’t try. Not just for your sake, but for my sisters too.”

“Yes,” Mr. Ocean mumbled quietly. “May they all find peace after what I’ve put them through…”

“You won’t do it again, right?”

“No, never!”

“Then promise me,” said Alaine. “Promise that you’ll never enthrall anyone again.”

Mr. Ocean met her eyes and repeated, “I promise you, Alaine Fontaine of Laraine, that I will never enthrall anyone again so long as I live.”

Alaine added, “And promise me that you won’t hate yourself for what you did. That you’ll love yourself despite your past.”

Mr. Ocean paused. “I cannot,” he said.

Alaine furrowed her scaly brow. “How come?”

“Because I am fae, and I cannot speak anything I know to be untrue,” he explained. “I _do_ hate myself for what I’ve done. I’m unable to love myself as I am. Perhaps that day will come in the future, or perhaps not. But I cannot promise absolutes in the face of uncertainty.”

The mermaid frowned, turning back to the water. “What a pain in the ass,” she mumbled. “Why can’t you just lie yourself until you’re delusional like humans do?”

“That’s simply how Mother Gaia made us, I’m afraid.”

Alaine picked up her shoes and stood up on the dock. She said, “It’s getting dark. Glen wants me to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow and help him fix a leak in his floor. He just _had_ to live in a boat…” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m really glad to see you out of the clinic. You’ll join the crew at dinner tomorrow, won’t you?”

Mr. Ocean winced a little as he replied, “I, er…I’m afraid I have no gold and nothing to bring to the table.”

“Don’t worry about that! Just bring yourself. Evan will start throwing contracts at you soon enough. You’ll probably have the fattest pockets in the crew.” Alaine began walking towards her house at the end of the dock, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake.

She briefly looked back at him and said, “Goodnight. Thank you for taking care of my friend.”

Mr. Ocean queried, “What friend?”

“ _You_ , dummy,” the mermaid shot him a smile and a wink, then disappeared behind her rickety door.

The last twitters of birdsong faded into the night, leaving only the faint rustle of wind through the trees. Mr. Ocean sat with the silence for some time. His twin hearts suddenly pounded out of sync. The rhythm was frightening yet curious, as if somehow familiar. It was an old, ancient feeling he had felt before, forgotten long ago and buried under centuries of chemical abuse.

Now it was being excavated like a fossil. Slowly he brushed the dust away until he recognized it, and then his eyes rounded with fear. He had been desperately seeking this feeling for so long. But he’d forgotten its intensity and now it burned his face. He pushed himself off the dock and into the cool lake.

*

The night brought a hard freeze over the village. Mr. Ocean awoke in the muddy depths of the lake, having never meant to fall asleep there in the first place. Cecaelia were nocturnal creatures, but after spending so long at the mercy of Dr. Che’s schedule, Mr. Ocean found himself waking up with the sun.

He saw light above and swam towards it. He tried to surface, but only bumped his head. Confused, he pressed his palms against the invisible barrier and realized the lake had frozen over. The ice wasn’t terribly thick. He was able to fight his way through it, and then he witnessed the world of white on the other side.

Each blade of grass was encased in frost, the lake’s surface solid and still. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. Mr. Ocean pulled himself onto the ice, then slipped and slid his way to shore. Steam gusted from his mouth with each breath as he made his way towards Glenvar’s houseboat. He crossed a short dock to reach the boat and knocked on the door.

The simple vessel was painted bright red, just large enough to house one man. It had a small upper floor where a bed was probably located and nothing more. The door opened and Glenvar himself stood on the other side, dressed down in nothing but a pair of white underwear and mismatched socks. An orange light was glowing in the center of his chest just beneath his skin.

He craned his neck to look up at the cecaelia towering over him. “Hello,” greeted Mr. Ocean. “I was told your boat had a leak in it. I would be happy to help you fix it, if you’ll let me.”

“Yer too late, Wiggler,” Glenvar told him, pointing his finger towards the floor. “Allie already fixed it this mornin’.”

“This morning? But the sun only just came up.”

“Huh?” Glenvar laughed. “What’re ya talkin’ about? It’s damn near noon!”

The cecaelia’s yellow eyes widened. He looked up at the sky, but the sun was completely obscured by thick clouds. He really overslept, he thought.

Then a realization hit him like a speeding ship. “Oh no! I must go now! Sorry to disturb you!” he gasped.

Glenvar watched him scramble off the slippery dock and hurry down the trail to the compound. The man shook his head and chuckled, “Feckin’ weirdo…” before closing the door.

Mr. Ocean reached the compound plaza, where the well stood between the boarding house, the captain’s office, and the dining hall. Cecaelia couldn’t exactly “run”, not with the awkward weight of six tentacles hanging from their hips, but he moved as quickly as his feet would carry him into the boarding house.

Evan showed him to a room yesterday, shortly after he returned from Tonsborg. The space was tiny, barely big enough to lay on the floor and stretch his limbs out. He was expected to provide his own furniture, and as of now, he had none. All he had was a sharkskin rucksack sitting in the corner, and inside that was a small box of medicine. Mr. Ocean frantically opened it.

He fumbled with the lid, cursing when it slipped from his hands and several marble-like pills clattered on the floor. He dropped to his knees to pick them up, counting them three times to be sure he had them all. He swallowed one and put the rest back.

At the end of the week, he would be forced to sit in a greenlite bath and wallow in his own toxins. The thought tempted him as much as it repulsed him. He recalled Morbus telling him the medicine might upset his stomach, so he left the boarding house in search of food.

The forest had nothing to reap in the dead of winter. He saw no one in the plaza and figured it was probably too cold for Terrians today. They must have been hiding in their homes and worshipping their fires.

Mr. Ocean returned to the lake. He crossed over the ice and slipped through the same hold he made before. This cold temperature wouldn’t kill a cecaelia. It only slowed his heartbeats and made him sluggish. So too were the fish in the lake, so he rested in the mud until a fat trout drifted by. His tentacle shot up and ensnared it with ease. It struggled only briefly before he devoured the creature raw.

The lake, he decided, was much more comfortable than his room at the boarding house. In his room, he had nothing. But here, he had fresh food to eat, plenty of space to frolic, and soft mud to sleep in.

He spent the rest of the day exploring the depths of the lake. There were treasures at every turn, which he collected into a pile on the shore. Nets, fishing lines and hooks, three boots, ten glass bottles, a wooden toy boat, and a rusty sword were among them. These were clearly Terrian things that had been lost to Aquaria, where the Terrians were not able to retrieve them because they could not see through the murk nor breathe in the water.

Mr. Ocean gathered the things in his arms and tentacles and took them to the compound. He dropped them in a large, wooden box in front of the boarding house with the words “LOST AND FOUND” painted on the front. He couldn’t wait to see the delight on someone’s face when they found their long-lost belongings.

Suddenly the door to the boarding house opened. A bald-headed human with a long, dark beard stepped out, bundled up in a thick coat of leather and fur. He held a cigar between his teeth, fishing through his pockets for a match to light it. He shot a brief nod towards Mr. Ocean and spoke over the cigar, “’Ey. Heard you finally escaped Che’s torture dungeon.”

Mr. Ocean replied, “He was nothing but kind to me. But yes, it’s good to be outside again. I am eager to make up for lost time. Do you know when Captain Atlas will summon me? I’m willing to start right away.”

The man lit his cigar, puffed on it a couple times before he said, “I think Atlas wants you to rest for a little while. Just get a feel for things on the homefront first, know what I mean?”

The cecaelia’s expression fell. “Oh. I see…” he mumbled.

The man nudged him and added, “But who knows? You might get a few local contracts here and there. Someone always needs a drunk spouse dragged home, some cargo moved, or a lost pet found. Simple, easy money. Show Atlas you can handle it and he’ll be shipping you all over the world in no time.”

Mr. Ocean’s posture perked slightly. He stared at the man for a long moment, then asked, “Your name…it’s Ballyhoo, isn’t it?”

The man suddenly choked, coughing up a plume of smoke. He pounded on his chest and replied raggedly, “Gods, no! That’s just what my friends call me, despite how many times I’ve bloodied them for it. Don’t call me that or I’ll bloody you too!”

“Very well. What should I call you?”

“Balthazaar Valentino’s my name,” the man answered, extending his hand for a shake. Mr. Ocean obliged and Balthazaar continued, “And Feredil Valentino’s my wife, in case you were getting any ideas.”

Mr. Ocean replied obliviously, “Ah, no worries. You’re not really my type.”

Balthazaar furrowed his bushy brows, silent for a moment. Then he plucked the cigar from his mouth and burst into laughter, clapping the cecaelia hard on the back as he said, “You’re a funny man, Ocean! I think you and I will get along just fine.”

He exhaled a gust of smoke through his nose, tipping his head towards the box beside them. “Hey, who dumped a bunch of trash in the lost and found? Bunch of half-wit donkeys around here, I swear…”

“Oh, I found these things in the lake,” explained Mr. Ocean. “Aquaria is full of lost Terrian artifacts. But I know how your kind struggles in the water, so I took it upon myself to return them. I hope they make their way home soon. I will try to find more tomorrow.”

Balthazaar quirked his bushy brows, looking between Mr. Ocean and the pile of damp, rusty, algae-covered treasures. He studied the cecaelia’s face for a moment and determined that he was, in fact, completely serious.

“Yes, well…” Balthazaar cleared his throat. “Thanks for that. I’ll, uh, be sure to get the word out.”

Mr. Ocean smiled and said, “Thank you, my friend. Do you happen to know when dinner starts? Alaine Fontaine of Laraine asked me to attend, even though I have nothing to bring.”

“Should be within the next hour,” said Balthazaar, glancing towards the dining hall across the plaza. “I think the womenfolk are finishing up a good pork roast in there. Why don’t you head inside and see if they need a hand or two—or six?” He gestured to the cecaelia’s tentacles with a grin.

Mr. Ocean nodded dutifully. “Very well,” he said, and then he crossed the plaza and disappeared through the heavy doors of the dining hall. Balthazaar extinguished the last of his cigar under his boot, then gathered the lake treasures out of the lost and found. He would toss them in the town cesspit where they belonged, he decided, and tell Mr. Ocean that they had all been claimed to spare his feelings.

But as he carried them down the main road through the village, he heard rapid hoofsteps approaching. A child’s voice called, “Wait! Mr. Valentino, stop!”

Balthazaar stopped and turned, saw a round-bodied young centaur waddling up to him. It was Olof’s delinquent son, Frederick. Steam blasted from the boy’s mouth as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Balthazaar rolled his eyes and wondered what kind of tricks the brat was about to pull.

But Frederick only snatched the toy boat out of the mercenary’s arms and exclaimed, “That’s my boat! I thought it was lost forever!” He examined the toy and noticed the crack in its hull. Scowling up at the man, he barked, “Hey, you broke it! Fix it right now!”

“I didn’t break it, you punk! Mr. Ocean found it that way, sitting at the bottom of Drifter’s Lake. Take better care of your things, why don’t you?” With that, Balthazaar continued on his path towards the cesspit. Frederick blew a loud raspberry at him before running off in the opposite direction.

*

The dining hall was a large, open room with a long table in its center. The table was really just three smaller tables nailed together, Mr. Ocean noticed as he watched his crewmen cover its surface with food. He passed through a doorway into the kitchen area. It was a room of stone with a large brick oven at one wall. Feredil, Linde, and Skel were rushing this way and that, preparing various dishes.

Linde noticed Mr. Ocean standing in the doorway. “Ocean! There you are!” she said brightly. “We’re so glad you’re joining us!”

“Yes, me too,” he replied. “May I help you with anything?”

Linde tipped her head towards the oven and began, “Sure, why don’t you—”

“Uh-uh! Don’t touch anything! We’ve got everything handled here!” interrupted Skel. He then waved his hand, opening the oven door with his telekinesis. An entire roasted pig floated out in a pan, orbited by vegetable slices. The pan came to a rest on the stone counter.

Mr. Ocean assured him, “Dr. Che has cleared me from quarantine. I am not leaking toxins anymore.” He waggled his webbed fingers, as if to display their cleanliness.

Linde beamed, “So I heard! That’s wonderful!” She rolled a piece of dough between her hands. “Do you want to help me with these biscuits?”

Feredil stood nearby, chopping carrots. She suddenly dropped her knife and joined Linde’s side, picking up a piece of dough as she said, “Oh, er, let me take care of that. Don’t make the poor dear work. He only just got out of the hospital.”

“I’m feeling much better,” Mr. Ocean told her. “Please, I would like to help.”

“Okay, just take that ladle over there and—” Linde began, but she was interrupted yet again.

“Linde,” Skel said sharply, “I really think Mr. Ocean should sit down and relax.” He punctuated himself with an intense glare.

“I think so too,” added Feredil.

Linde looked between them and asked, “Why? The man took out an entire Alliance base. I think he can handle a biscuit!”

Both Skel and Feredil held their fae tongues, choosing their words carefully, for they could only speak their true thoughts.

Skel was the first to speak, said, “I’m not doubting his abilities, I assure you. I just think we should ask Captain Atlas before we do anything. Everyone has their own chores, and none of us have the authority to assign them. That’s the captain’s job.”

“Yes, yes,” Feredil agreed enthusiastically, “it’s best if he waits for instructions from the captain!”

Linde threw her hands up and sighed, “Ugh, fine. Whatever. Just make yourself comfortable, Ocean. We’ll take care of dinner tonight, I guess.”

The cecaelia nodded and left the room. Once he was well out of earshot, Linde grabbed Skel’s sleeve and hissed, “What’s your problem? Why are you treating that old wizard like a child?”

“Are you blind? He’s _filthy_!” Skel hissed back. “He’s got mud smeared up to his ankles and he smells like low tide! Any creature that spends all day in a scummy lake has no business in the kitchen.”

Linde’s eyes rolled as she whirled back towards the counter. “Oh my gods, you are _so_ prejudiced!” she exclaimed.

“It’s not prejudice, it’s a fact! Aquarians are dirty people by nature and that’s just how it is,” Skel told her.

Feredil chimed in, “No one species is better than another. We’re just _different_ , that’s all.”

Skel nodded. “Yes, see? Terrians were made for life on the surface, and Aquarians were made for life underwater. Ocean is on the surface now, so he’s going to be a little out of his element, don’t you think?”

Working the biscuit dough, Linde snapped, “Shame on you two! I can’t believe you’re treating him like a dirty animal just because of his species.”

Skel hissed through his teeth, “ _They swim in their own shit, Linde_!”

“ _You’re_ leaking shit from your mouth as we speak!” she argued back.

Just then, Evan poked his head in the doorway and asked, “How’s the main course coming along, guys?”

“Oh, um, almost done!” reported Linde.

Evan smiled. “Great! I just told Ocean to wash up and lend you a hand. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Just like that, the captain disappeared, leaving the trio of fae in an awkward silence. Linde then turned to Skel and said sharply, “There, he’s _washing_ first. Are you happy now, you germaphobe? Or should I say, Aquarianphobe?”

Skel pinched the bridge of his long, pointed nose. “You’re a headache personified, woman,” he groaned.

Within the hour, every mercenary in the compound converged in the dining hall and found their seats at the table. Mr. Ocean walked out of the kitchen with a tray in his arms, holding the heavy roast. He placed it on the center of the table, where it was surrounded by all kinds of exotic Terrian dishes. Alaine called him to the seat beside her. An empty plate and stein were sitting before him.

Once everyone was seated, Evan stood up at the head of the table and announced, “Attention, crew! This is a special feast tonight, in celebration of our newest recruit and his miraculous recovery.” He gestured to the cecaelia, sitting a few seats to his left. “You’re a valuable asset to our crew, Mr. Ocean. So to show our appreciation, we offer you a gift…”

Evan reached under the table and presented a long, leather case. He opened it on the tabletop, and a swell of oohs and aahs spread over the table when he pulled out a fine wooden instrument. It was long-necked with many strings and knobs to tune them. The base was round, carved with an intricate design of a kraken. He offered the instrument to Mr. Ocean.

Glancing between Evan and the instrument several times, Mr. Ocean hesitated before taking it, as if in disbelief that it was real. “A sitar,” he said breathlessly, thoughtfully tracing his claw over the carving.

Evan told him, “I have a, uh, very good friend in Serkel. Alaine told me you played, and I just happened to mention it to him. The next thing I know: a courier approaches me with this thing. I understand it’s a fine piece of work, custom made by a craftsman in Matuzu Capital. I hope it’s to your liking.”

Mr. Ocean plucked a few strings, carefully twisting the tuning knobs as he listened to their rich, unearthly twang. Then his gaze flicked towards Evan. “It sounds like a dream,” he said. “This is much finer than my last one. This is a work of art! Thank you, Captain Atlas.”

He turned to the other mercenaries, lined up on either side of the long table. “Thank you, everyone. I don’t feel I deserve this. I’ve burdened you from the moment you graciously invited me to your village. Yet you showed me nothing but kindness. You never feared my plague, you took care of me regardless, and you never gave up hope for me…”

Clutching the instrument tighter, he croaked, “You are truly who you say you are. You are Good Guys indeed, and I only hope I can meet your standards.”

Across the table, Glenvar ripped into a greasy chicken leg and spoke over a full mouth, “The bar ain’t as high as ya think. I mean, Luke’s still here and he’s a total _kirk_ head.” He jerked his thumb towards Lukas, sitting a few seats to his right. Lukas retaliated by throwing a grape at him, striking him right in the eye.

“What Mr. Thunderhorn means to say is,” Evan added quickly, “we aren’t asking perfection. How could we, when we’re so far from it ourselves? All that matters to us are your efforts and intentions.”

Mr. Ocean nodded. “Then I promise you, I shall do my best to be good from now on,” he said.

Evan extended his hand for a shake. “Welcome to the crew, friend.”

Mr. Ocean shook his hand and the other mercenaries erupted into cheers. Alcohol began flowing from the kegs until every stein was filled to the brim. Plates were piled with food, but Alaine wasn’t ready to eat yet. Her lute was hanging on the wall in its case. She took it out and stood at the front of the room near the piano and several deerskin drums.

“Hey, Ocean! Let’s give these guys dinner and a show!” she said. The crew cheered in agreement.

But the cecaelia shrunk down in his seat and admitted, “Me? I, eh…I’m not a very good musician. You wouldn’t want to hear me play.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” said Alaine, waving her arm to beckon him. “Get up here! You too, Jay! And Glen!”

Jeimos dabbed their lips with a napkin before switching seats, from the table to the piano. Glenvar let out a loud belch, wiped his greasy hands on his pants, and sat on the floor behind two large drums. Mr. Ocean looked around at all the faces staring back at him.

“Come on, let’s hear it!” called Javaan.

“I’ve never heard that instrument before! Please, will you play it for me?” pleaded Feredil.

The others rumbled in agreement.

Finally, Mr. Ocean picked up the sitar and reluctantly took his place beside Alaine. She stood on the right side of the stage and he sat cross-legged on the left, resting the base of the sitar on his foot. Alaine strummed a slow, simple tune on her lute. The sound was woody and bright. Then she paused and turned to Mr. Ocean.

Fumbling for a moment to place his hands correctly, the cecaelia repeated the same tune. His strings produced a low, meandering sound. He flubbed a couple notes but finished the tune, and then Alaine strummed another. This time, both Jeimos and Mr. Ocean repeated after her.

Upon the third tune, Glenvar beat a steady rhythm on his drums. Before long, the four of them were playing together in harmony. The mercenaries clapped along as Alaine sang,

“ _I know a man from old Greenhearst,_

_Got bit by a bum, came down with a curse,_

_He smells somethin’ awful, more hair than a dog,_

_Now he howls at the moon and he eats like a hog!_

_I know a prince from Uekoro,_

_He bends like a cat and he’s sharp with a bow,_

_He’s smart as a fox and he paints fine art,_

_He’s a real sour bastard and he has no heart!_

_I know a guy, he’s from Kirkmar,_

_He prays every day to the whale’s star,_

_Got a rock in his chest and it burns real hot,_

_He’s short as a clover and round as a pot!_

_I know a girl down from Laraine,_

_Big bad undine done stole her brain,_

_She cracks her lute and snaps her string,_

_The sirenes say ‘that girl can’t sing’!_

_I know a mage, a Damijan,_

_They clap their hands and then they’re gone,_

_They cry and they shake and they’re thin as a wire,_

_They clap their hands, then you’re on fire!_

_These folks found a boy one afternoon,_

_In a tomb in a void up on the moon,_

_He woke from the dead and now he flies,_

_On a big mean roc over the skies!_

_They hunted down a band of goons,_

_And chased them through the Serkel dunes,_

_Got captured by an evil god,_

_And saved by the Steel Knuckle Squad!_

_In the mountains of Loreham,_

_A centaur lived there with her clan,_

_Slavers sealed her whole clan’s fates,_

_She threw their heads onto our plates!_

_Then one night in old Woodborne,_

_A mad cecaelia blew his horn,_

_Then he went and lost his head,_

_Now he and us are breaking bread_!”

The song came to an end and a round of applause filled the room. The musicians bowed before returning to the table.

“You’re a very talented musician, Alaine Fontaine of Laraine,” Mr. Ocean told her, taking his seat. “It was an honor to play with you.”

She slid a large slice of cake onto her plate and replied, “Thanks. But just call me Alaine, will you?”

“Very well, Alaine.”

The mermaid grinned and gave him a nudge. “So, what are you going to do now that you got that fungus under control?”

Mr. Ocean stroked his beard of tentacles thoughtfully, answered, “I found a boat sitting at the bottom of the lake. I think I will work on it and make it my home.”

“Oh yeah, that old boat!” Alaine chuckled. “I found it when we first settled here. Me ‘n Glen tried to tow it up with a couple horses, but the mud’s got a strangle-hold on it. That thing’s not going anywhere.”

“Do you know who it belongs to? I can try to return it to them.”

“No idea.” Alaine shrugged. “I found a can of peaches in there from the fifty-nine tens. I’m pretty sure whoever owned it is long dead. Anyway, if you want help fixing up the place, just let me know.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Mr. Ocean. He stabbed his fork into a small, fried fish. Alaine cringed as she watched his tentacle-like tongue snake out and grab the food, pulling it into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, exposing his menacing shark’s teeth. Crumbs of breading and spittle flew forth onto the table.

It seemed he still had some assimilating to do, Alaine thought. They would get there in time. Once he swallowed the bite, he asked, “Will you help me tomorrow? Perhaps at high sun?” Before she should answer, he shook his head and added, “No, no, nevermind. You will surely be out of town. I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Your work,” explained Mr. Ocean. “I was told Captain Atlas dispatches you all over the world.”

Alaine leaned back in her seat and told him, “Oh, trust me, I’m not leaving the Hollow any time soon. Considering I pissed of a divine and about a thousand dorikori, I think I’m gonna lay low for a few weeks, at least. There’s plenty of work here in town to tide me over. Dumb work, but work nonetheless.”

“Do not fear them,” Mr. Ocean told her. “They will not harm you so long as I’m around. Even Roach is not foolish enough to challenge me.”

Alaine almost laughed. “Oh, so you just promoted yourself to my bodyguard, huh?”

Smiling like a human, the cecaelia told her, “Of course. I promised to always protect what I love.”

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Mr. Wiggles has a case of the feels!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you have any feedback, good or bad, please let me know in the comments. :)


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